


With Only A Dream

by Spuri



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, M/M, Mild Gore, Panic Attacks, Post-Season/Series 03A AU, suicide ideation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-14
Updated: 2014-07-14
Packaged: 2018-02-08 18:52:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1952307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spuri/pseuds/Spuri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek is so tired, and so sick of failing.</p>
<p>But sometimes, it takes someone else to show you how much you're actually worth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With Only A Dream

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE NOTE that this fic is much angstier than what I usually write, and beware the trigger warnings in the tags. The gore/violence is canon-typical, or slightly milder. The panic attack is not explicitly written, and doesn't really go into a full-blown attack. The depression and suicide ideation is mostly referred to in a kind of... roundabout way(?), but both are very much the focus of the story. Please don't hesitate to ask if you want me to clarify anything if you're unsure whether this story is safe for you. However, the ending is my regular sweet and fluffy, so it shouldn't leave you hanging. There's just a lot of pain before that, so be warned. Derek is not in a good headspace for this fic, and to be honest, neither was I, for most of it.
> 
> I started writing this way before 3B started airing, so it ignores any 3B canon completely. It was mostly inspired by a lot of frankly worrying behaviour seen by Derek in 3A, and by She's Like The Wind, by Patrick Swayze. Yes, from Dirty Dancing.

Derek was tired.

 

The irony wasn't lost on him; a werewolf with supernatural strength and endurance, and all he could ever these days was a bone-weary exhaustion that seemed to sit at his very core.

 

He wasn't entirely sure what had possessed him to come back to Beacon Hills - no longer an alpha, and no pack to call his own - but no matter where he went, it didn't matter; he couldn't feel anything but tired. So perhaps it was fitting to atone in Beacon Hills, to live out his sentence here, where it had all begun.

 

He’d travelled with Cora for a while, and they'd tried being a pack - being a family - but even if he'd saved her life, you couldn't build a relationship on gratitude alone. And they were strangers, now, having spent too many years apart, with too many hurts still too tender to share. Cora was still vibrant and young and wanted to see things, experience things, _live_.

 

Derek just felt old. Old and tired. He might still look young, but appearances could be deceiving. It made him less than pleasant company sometimes, he knew, but the guilt couldn't really penetrate through this constant exhaustion enough for him to attempt to change his behavior much. So he could hardly begrudge Cora for wanting to strike out on her own, merely nod and change the paperwork for the account he'd once shared with Laura to a joint one between Cora and himself instead, and tell her to spend however much she wanted on whatever she wanted.

 

And that he would wait for her in Beacon Hills, if she ever felt like...

 

Well, he didn't expect her to take him up on that last offer. Besides, with how everything Derek loved turned to ash, she was better off far away from him.

 

So he stayed in Beacon Hills, helping out whenever there was some new supernatural crisis - and there was always a new supernatural crisis - and an extra set of claws would come in handy. He didn't bother much with joining in on planning, content to simply go where he was pointed. Derek had finally learned that he wasn't good for much beyond getting used, but maybe if he chose who he let use him, the results wouldn't be as bad?

 

It was worth a shot, anyway.

 

For some reason, though, Stiles kept glancing at him during the strategy meetings, or when they were paired up for stake-outs or missions. They always tried to pair the humans with a werewolf, to ensure the humans weren't in a vulnerable position, and so there would always be someone nearby who could handle wolfsbane, should something happen.

 

Derek was normally paired with Stiles, since it was hard to tell which half felt most uncomfortable whenever he was paired with Allison or Lydia. And Danny preferred the wolves he knew, or perhaps he kept remembering that whole Miguel farce.

 

So he kept patrolling with Stiles, and they somehow always ended up sitting or standing next to each other during strategy meetings. Even on the blessedly quiet days, Stiles would text him, or visit him (in his small one-bedroom apartment. He couldn't go back to the loft, not after...), and Derek could go days without talking to or seeing anyone but Stiles.

 

It was probably inevitable, really, that Derek would fall for him. His heart clearly hadn’t learned the lesson yet, despite Derek’s best efforts. Or maybe he was just that much of a mindless beast, that a little bit of closeness and kindness - although perhaps ‘kind’ wasn’t the right word. Stiles could be protective, considerate, and good, but kindness was too soft a virtue for both Stiles and the world they lived in - was all it took to fell him.

 

Still, Derek would admit that Stiles was the best choice his heart had ever made. Stiles would never betray or harm Derek in any way, he was too loyal for that. He wasn’t evil, and he wasn’t crazy. Well, not _malignantly_ crazy, anyway. That alone was a giant step up from Derek’s previous mistakes.

 

Then there was the way simply being near Stiles made Derek feel _stronger_ , and less brittle. Stiles’ warmth at his side, or his huffed breaths loud in Derek’s ears as they did night patrols eased this aching hole inside of him, the hole that once had held Derek’s pack - both of them - and all his broken, shattered dreams.

 

It made Derek want to cling, to move closer and let that warmth seep into his skin, and maybe even all the way down to his frozen, aching bones. And in the moonlight, with Stiles next to him, joking or asking questions about the supernatural or even tiredly confessing to nightmares, it almost seemed like Derek could.

 

But then the sky would brighten, the sun would rise, and Stiles would say goodbye with a tired smile. And he’d go back to his father, his friends, school, his _life_. While Derek would go back to his barren apartment, and simply go on existing.

 

That was the problem, really. Derek could attempt to soak in Stiles, attempt to have Stiles soothe all those wounds that never showed up on Derek’s skin. It wouldn’t even be all that hard, really. Derek knew what he looked like, and he knew all too well what teenage desperation and hormones looked like. He could easily exploit those things along with Stiles’ inherent fondness for him.

 

But Derek was a broken husk, and he would suck Stiles - even vibrant, smart, _alive_ Stiles - dry, and it wouldn’t be enough. It would never be enough.

 

So he would watch, from this awkward half-distance of something resembling friends, let his heart beat fiercely for Stiles in a way it would beat for nothing else, and wait. Eventually, something would come, something too big and too strong for them, and Derek would finally be able to let go. And then he could be proud of the fact that he’d been useful enough in the end, and most importantly, that he hadn’t dragged Stiles down with him.

 

That was more than enough for Derek.

 

 

* * *

 

 

In the end, Derek really hadn’t expected it to happen so _soon_. It was strange, really. It was what he wanted, and yet he couldn’t help but feel he wasn’t ready. There was no real reason _why_ , nothing he had left undone, he simply hadn’t expected to be bleeding out in the Preserve from a fist-sized hole in his chest just over a year after his return to Beacon Hills.

 

He gave a soft chuckle at that, although it came out closer to a cough, misting his face with blood and sending a wave of pain through his body.

 

Stiles was yelling… something, but it sounded so far away, from where he was doing his best to finish off the Mi-ni-wa-tu. Part of Derek wanted to get back up and help him, but landlocked, and with its horn broken off and still stuck in Derek, the Mi-ni-wa-tu was slow enough and injured enough it shouldn’t be much of a challenge, despite the spiked tail, and despite the rest of the pack being scattered all across town, probably locked in their own fights. Besides, Derek was so very tired, and moving hurt. _Breathing_ hurt.

 

The Mi-ni-wa-tu gave one last angry, wounded bellow before collapsing with a thud Derek _felt_ more than heard. Derek smiled. Another win for Team Beacon Hills.

 

“Derek! Derek? Oh god, the blood,” Stiles said with a whimper as he collapsed on the ground next to him. “C’mon, man, stay with me. Don’t worry, I’ll get this creepy crap out of you in a sec.”

 

“‘s okay, Stiles,” Derek muttered, trying to make his smile look reassuring. It probably didn’t work all that well, since Stiles appeared to be crying, judging by the fat, warm, salty drops falling on Derek’s face. But then again, Derek had never really been good at reassurances, and it was so hard to concentrate.

 

Stiles grabbed the part of the horn protruding from Derek’s chest and pulled, slipped, and pulled again. He sobbed. “Oh god, help me out here, dude, I can’t get a good grip. Claws or werewolf strength or something would be real helpful right now.”

 

“Jus’ leave it,” Derek slurred, dropping a hand on Stiles’ wrist for comfort. “‘s fine.”

 

“It’s not fucking _fine_ , Derek!” Stiles shouted, so shrill it hurt a little, trying again and again to get a grip on the horn to pull it out. “Get your goddamn fucking claws out right now, you complete moron, or I am going to _murder_ you. You’re not gonna die, I won’t _let_ you!”

 

“That makes no sense,” Derek said with a soft laugh, because of course Stiles would threaten murder while trying to save his pathetic excuse for a life.

 

“Do I look like I fucking care? You’re _mine_!” Stiles said, halfway between a sob and a snarl. “Claws! _Now_!”

 

The snap of command in his voice was enough was enough for Derek’s claws to snap out, not entirely of his own volition. Without a single ounce of hesitation, Stiles grabbed his hand and jammed Derek claws into the horn so hard a nauseating wave of pain washed over him, and with a loud groan of effort tore the whole thing free from both Derek’s chest and the ground beneath him.

 

Not that Derek thought it mattered. He’d lost so much blood already, and there was so much damage to heal. Even werewolves had limits, after all.

 

“There,” Stiles said, tired and triumphant, and slumping with exhaustion. “Now heal, damn you. I’m not letting you leave.”

 

Gently, he pried the horn off of Derek’s claws, and slipped his fingers between Derek’s, clenching tight. He leaned down, gently resting his head on Derek’s chest, next to the wound.

 

“Please don’t leave me,” Stiles repeated in a whisper so soft even Derek’s werewolf hearing had trouble picking it up. He sounded pleading, desperate, insecure.

 

Derek doubted he’d ever be able to deny Stiles anything, so with a defeated sigh, he closed his eyes.

 

He had some healing to do.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Derek growled at the pain of being awake, kind of surprised he was even still alive to do so. Not to mention that waking up in pain didn’t happen all that often, unless he’d been kidnapped by hunters or something.

 

It didn’t feel like hunter pain, though, oddly enough. It was more dull than that, and slowly fading.

 

“Good morning to you too, Derek,” Scott said cheerfully, and Derek growled at him, opening his eyes just to flash them a warning blue. Alpha or not, Derek didn’t much care.

 

Not that he was really in shape to do anything but growl, at the moment. Scott simply shrugged unapologetically.

 

“Yeah, no, that’s not really impressive right now. Y’know, Deaton was pretty much willing to swear you wouldn’t make it. It’s kind of a miracle you’re even alive, even with werewolf healing,” Scott told him conversationally, smiling a little. “Far as we can tell, it’s connected to how Stiles has refused to let go of you, despite having been passed out cold for three days. And counting. It’s kind of impressive, really. Even superhuman strength did absolutely nothing when we tried to pry him off.”

 

Derek’s throat constricted with horror, and he did his best to scramble upright, so he could get a hold of the situation. A soft groan from the - previously unnoticed - weight on his chest froze him in his tracks. He looked down, torn between curiosity and horror, at where Stiles was basically hugging him like a giant teddy bear.

 

“Y’know, Stiles is usually kind of shit at showing this stuff outside of stupid grand gestures, but he cares about you a lot,” Scott said, his voice carefully even despite the sheer tension Derek could sense coming from him. “He doesn’t let a lot of people in, but once he does, he’s as fierce as a momma bear. You’re one of his… cubs, now, I guess. Don’t dismiss that, or take it for granted.”

 

Derek scoffed. “Stiles isn’t in any position to parent me, he’s still a kid himself.”

 

“It’s not about _parenting_ ,” Scott retorted, rolling his eyes like only a teenager could. “He’s not _actually_ a momma bear, he’s just very protective of the people he cares about. He’d do just about anything for you. Even if it means almost killing himself and passing out for half a week. This is just a warning that you’d better respect that, or we’re gonna have a problem. Okay?”

 

Doing his best to ignore Scott’s glare, Derek swallowed down his panic. This wasn’t supposed to happen, Stiles wasn’t supposed to care about _him_. None of them were! None of them were supposed to miss him when the inevitable happened.

 

“I never asked him to care.” It was humiliating, really, how shaky his voice was.

 

“You couldn’t stop him if you tried,” Scott said with a laugh. “It’s not for you to decide whether people get to care about you or not, and even if it was, Stiles wouldn’t give a damn. That’s just who he is. I guess my point is, don’t hurt him. _Or else_ , y’know?”

 

Derek closed his eyes and gave a slow nod, trying to ignore how badly he was shivering.

 

“Good,” Scott said firmly, slapping his thighs as he got up. “Well, now that one of you are awake, we can finally drop the bedside rotation thing. Which is good for you guys, ‘cause Lydia had the next shift, and I’m pretty sure she’s been ready to blow something up out of boredom. And I have homework, so see you later, I guess?”

 

“Sheriff?” Derek asked, as he suddenly remembered that Sheriff Stilinski had to have noticed that his son wasn’t at home, and would probably have issues with it, like any sane parent.

 

“Don’t worry, he knows. He was part of the bedside rotation roster, actually.” Scott sounded entirely too cheerful, and Derek gave him a horrified look. There was no possible way the Sheriff was okay with letting his _teenage son_ sharing a bed with a man close to ten years his senior. But Scott simply laughed. “Trust me, Mr. Stilinski knows better than most how pointless it is to try to tell Stiles who he gets to love. He might yell at you a little, later, even about stuff that’s not really your fault, but that’s parents, y’know? They’re not always rational about their kids.”

 

Personally, Derek would count himself lucky if the Sheriff didn’t _shoot_ him. He was surprised he was still alive, actually. But it was all drowned out by that one word echoing in his head. _Love_. Sure, Scott probably didn’t mean it the way it sounded, the way Derek loved Stiles, but the word alone still made Derek’s heart race, and filled his body with an uncomfortable, twitchy jitter.

 

“Okay, I’m heading out. There’s water and Pop-Tarts on the nightstand, and leftover chinese in the fridge, I think? Deaton said you’d probably wake up together, or close to it, something about synchronized energies for healing, or whatever? I don’t know, point is, Stiles should be up soon a well. Pack meeting on Saturday, we’re doing a run-through of our fights then, since none of us really know what happened with you and Stiles, and you probably wanna know about our end, too,” Scott explained, while pulling his shoes back on and grabbing his backpack. He headed for the door. “G’night, then. Tell Stiles to text his dad when he’s up, ‘kay?”

 

Derek swallowed thickly, and nodded. Scott flashed a quick smile in return, before leaving the apartment and, thankfully, locking the door behind him and shoving the key back under the door. It was strange, really; it wasn’t as if a locked door was gonna stop anyone who wanted to get in, not even a regular human, but it still made Derek feel safer, and eased the tension in his shoulders.

 

He shifted, pushing Stiles’ grip down a little so he could sit upright in at least a semi-comfortable position. Part of him hoped Stiles wouldn’t wake up yet. He still had to… process. Hesitantly, barely even touching, Derek pet Stiles’ hair, marvelling a little at how soft it was.

 

So, he was still alive after all. It was hard to wrap his mind around it, when he’d been so _sure_ he was finally… well, free. So he’d let go of a lot of the barriers and shored up bits keeping him together, and it was hard to get it all back in place. The revelation that Stiles apparently cared a lot more than Derek had thought wasn’t really helping, either. He hadn’t expected to be missed. He hadn’t expected Stiles to cry, or to break down begging.

 

The slightly hazy memory alone was enough to send a flash of guilty pain through him. This changed everything, really. Derek wasn’t sure he could go through with his plans now, knowing this. And yet, where did that leave him? It wasn’t as if he could think of any alternative, anything he could do differently.

 

Derek was still Derek; broken, tired, old, and mostly useless. He didn’t have much to offer except his life. But if Stiles needed him around for some unknown reason, there wasn’t much he could do but try his best to stick around. He just didn’t really know _how_. No matter what angle he attacked the tangled mess in his head from, his thoughts kept running in pointless circles.

 

A soft groan startled him out of his worries some indeterminable time later, and he looked down at where he was still - embarrassingly enough - petting Stiles’ hair. Awkwardly, he forced his hand to stillness, and reluctantly pulled it away.

 

“Noooo, don’ stop,” Stiles muttered, barely legible with how his face was mashed against Derek’s stomach. Jerkily, Derek put his hand back, and couldn’t stop his lips from twitching upwards at the small, content sound Stiles made.

 

“Thanks. Feels good,” Stiles slurred, sounding either half-drugged or half-asleep.

 

Derek chuckled softly. “You’re welcome.”

 

Stiles stiffened, and almost lunged up in an upright position, legs curled underneath him. His eyes flitted constantly, as if he was trying to take in every part of Derek at once, and his hands hovered shakily over Derek’s chest, as if he was afraid to touch.

 

“Derek,” Stiles said, breathy, pained, and almost disbelieving. “You’re…”

 

“I’m fine,” Derek confirmed, and pressed Stiles’ hand to his chest, where the Mi-na-wa-tu’s horn had punched a hole just a few days ago, and there was nothing now but smooth skin. It felt like too intimate a touch, but he did his best to ignore it. This wasn’t about anything like _that_ , but simple reassurance, something Stiles probably needed desperately.

 

“Oh, thank god.” Stiles sagged with relief, resting his head against Derek’s chest. The warm, wet puffs of Stiles’ breath against his bare skin made his entire body tingle. “Don’t you _ever_ do that to me again.”

 

“I won’t,” Derek replied, as gently as he was able to.

 

“I know this is selfish, and it’s so not your problem, but don’t do… _that_. I have no right to ask, but please live? For me? I don’t care if it’s just an excuse, or until you find a better reason, I just… I need you here,” Stiles said, his breathing getting increasingly ragged and unsteady as his rant went on.

 

“I will, I promise, just… _breathe_ , Stiles, calm down,” Derek said, rubbing what was hopefully soothing circles into Stiles’ back, hoping to nip what was probably a potential panic attack in the bud. “That’s it, deep breaths, just like that.”

 

It took several minutes for Stiles to calm down enough for his breath and heartbeat to return to normal, and Derek sighed in relief when they finally did.

 

“Did… did you mean that? Or was that just something you said to calm me down?” Stiles asked, still sounding a little shaky.

 

“I’m not going anywhere, as long as you want me here,” Derek confirmed with a slight hug, before taking a steeling breath, hoping he could keep his voice even. “I just don’t… I mean, why? Why me?”

 

Stiles hugged him back, and it was kind of odd, really. Derek couldn’t quite remember when he’d last been hugged, or hugged someone, for that matter. Hesitantly, Stiles let go, and sat back to look Derek in the eye, despite how visibly nervous and uncomfortable he was. “Do you… do you know how many people I’m a priority to?”

 

Derek frowned and shook his head, not entirely sure how that was relevant.

 

“There’s my dad, of course. And things are definitely better now that he knows about the bump in the night stuff, but, y’know, his job is important, and I can’t really… I mean, what if lives are on the line, right?” Stiles said, and flashed a weak smile, all the while fidgeting. “Then there’s Scott, but he’s got Allison and of course, I get that, I mean, she’s the love of his life, right? She’s important to him. And with the alpha stuff as well, he’s got enough shit to deal with.”

 

Stiles took a deep breath. “And then… then there’s you. And you might glare at me or roll your eyes - although you don’t do that much anymore - but you always _listen_. You might think I’m being dumb, but you’ll hear me out, and humour me for the most part, and you’re never too busy or whatever when I’m bugging you, whether it’s on the phone or if I’m showing up uninvited. And that… it means a lot to me. And yeah, I get how pathetic this sounds, like, what, I like you ‘cause you’re nice to me?” Stiles said and scoffed, before biting his lip.

 

“But that’s not it, not really. I like your sense of humour, and when you smile. I like the way you’re grumpy in the morning, and how crazily possessive you get over pizza. I like how you’re _shit_ at video games, but you never give up on them, either. I like it when we do research together, even if you refuse to give up on your dumb books and just enter the age of technology already. I…” Stiles paused, and sighed with a small shrug. “You just brighten my day, dude, and things are generally shit enough that I kind of need that light.”

  
  


Derek stared at him, stunned to the point of speechlessness. He hadn’t thought… hadn’t imagined he’d be _important_ like this, especially not to someone like Stiles. Hadn’t thought he could do some of those same things for Stiles that Stiles did for him, no matter how desperately he had wanted Derek to stay alive.

 

“You… you brighten my day too, Stiles,” he admitted, because it seemed cowardly and unfair not to, no matter how bad Derek was at talking, especially about feelings. “You’re not bugging me when you come over, or when you’re texting random crap in the middle of the night. You’re… the only thing making this all worth it, most days.”

 

Stiles blinked rapidly, eyes looking suspiciously shiny as his gaze flitted restlessly. “You-… you said you’d stick around for as long as I want you to? What if I say ‘always’? Y’know, forever, kinda?”

 

There was a loud, rapid heartbeat in Derek’s ears, but he couldn’t quite tell if it was his own or Stiles’. “That sounds like… more than just friends.” It sounded like _much_ more than just friends. It sounded like, well, a proposal, really. He probably hadn’t mean it like that, but still.

 

Stiles looked down, blushing an oddly attractive pink. It should have clashed with his moles, but it didn’t, really. “What if it is?” he asked, voice small.

 

Derek swallowed, not quite believing his own ears. “That’s… fine.”

 

Stiles made a sound somewhere between a whimper and a groan of frustration, probably. “ _Fine_? What does _fine_ mean?” he demanded with a nervous glare, if such a thing existed.

 

“I’d love more-than-friends. If you want to, I mean,” Derek said with a hopeful half-smile.

 

“I want. I very much want,” Stiles replied, nodding vigorously. “Can I kiss you? I really want to kiss you. And other things, of course, but right now, kissing sounds great. I mean, we probably have to do mature and adult stuff like _talking_ at some point, but I’m not sure I can take any more talking right now.”

 

Derek laughed, feeling lighter - or rather, feeling _more_ \- than he had in months, and pressed a chaste kiss to a stunned Stiles’ lips, retreating before he could really get over his surprise and reciprocate. He smiled at the pure disbelief on Stiles’ face. They _would_ have to talk at some point, and Derek still had… stuff to work out in his head if this was gonna have even a snowball’s chance in hell of working out, but like Stiles had said, he was pretty sure they’d both need time to process before they could do any more talking.

 

And speaking of talking…

 

“Scott said to call your dad when you woke up, by the way,” Derek said, and snorted a laugh when Stiles’ disbelief turned indignant.

 

“Oh my _god_ , you complete mood-wrecker!” Stiles complained. “I should’ve fucking known. I think I may hate you a little bit.”

 

Hearing the lie in Stiles’ heartbeat, Derek grabbed both their phones from where they were charging on the nightstand, and handed Stiles his. “Call your dad, and I’ll call for pizza, how about that?”

 

Stiles gave a slow nod, his eyes narrowed in distrust. “Just don’t think that kind of bribery is gonna work forever.”

 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Derek agreed, even if he was pretty sure they were both blatantly lying. He gave Stiles a peck on the cheek because he _could_ , and the idea alone was giddying.

 

“Okay, I don’t hate you,” he muttered, blushing a bright pink even as he was trying to concentrate on his call, waiting for his dad to pick up, which was giddying as well. “Not even a little bit.”

 

It was probably way too early, and dumb besides, but Derek had never been good at knowing how relationships worked, so he muttered in Stiles’ ear: “I love you too.”

 

Which made Stiles go from pink to bright red and screech loudly, at the exact moment his dad picked up. Stiles grabbed the nearest pillow and smacked Derek with it, wildly, repeatedly, and Derek simply couldn’t stop laughing.

 

He hoped he never would.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Depression and suicide ideation manifests differently for different people, so Derek's mental state here isn't necessarily representative. (And no, he's not magically healed just because he happens to be smiling at the end). This story is based partly on my own experiences, and partly on extrapolation, since Derek's reality and life is... well, kind of far from mine. I'm not a werewolf, for one. :P
> 
> Similarly, Scott and Stiles' handling of the situation isn't necessarily all that great, but they're teens, with nowhere near the experience or knowledge needed to deal with a mental state this delicate in a healthy, considerate way.
> 
> Also, due to the POV, the pack might come across as a bit callous here, with only Scott being there, and him leaving immediately. However, they got the diagnosis of "they're fine, just sleeping it off" almost immediately, so they were certain there was nothing to worry about.
> 
> Thanks to John & Caitlin Matthews' The Element Encyclopedia of Magical Creatuers for the monster of the week. I based it on the information I had readily available, so here's hoping I didn't grossly misrepresent. Feel free to call me on it if I did.
> 
> [Tumblr](http://spurisani.tumblr.com/)! Where I'm always available if you need someone to talk to. <3 Seriously, if something in this fic stirs up something, or resonates with you somehow, feel free to send me an ask about anything.


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